


breathe for me

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which skye and grant get an accidental dose of some kind of sex pollen, but still aren't on the best of terms. so they solve their problem in an... unusual way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe for me

The first thing that hits her is the _craving_.  And it’s the worst, grossest word for it. 

But Skye can’t think of a better word for the feeling that uncurls itself in her stomach as the chemical unfurls in her lungs.

And then it moves lower, from her belly into her-

Jeans.  Right into her jeans, under them, through the cotton of her underwear.

“Skye?” Grant asks, as the dust settles across the lab.  “You alright?”

She tries to swallow and finds that her mouth feels impossibly dry.  Her tongue seems swollen, and if she could just get a drink of water, if she could just fix this-

“Skye,” Grant repeats.  “It wasn’t a bomb.”

She slumps against the wall behind her.  Lets herself slide down.  “Stop,” Skye says.  “I can’t-” Talking makes her heart stomach hurt.  “Your voice.  You’re-”

She supposes, in some part of her head, that it could be worse than Grant.  Maybe not by much.  Maybe it couldn’t be at all.  Since he’s still determinedly somewhere between hating her and finding her kind of begrudgingly amusing.  And she’s still somewhere between pretending she hates him and wishing he’d just stop hating her so damn much.

And there’s this question prying at her.  If it wasn’t Grant in the room right now, sounding like Grant, looking like Grant- And God, with Grant’s heartbeat. If it wasn’t _that,_ would she feel this sick?

“It’s okay,” Grant says.  “Just stay where you are.”

Skye slides the rest of the way down the wall.  Lands on her ass.  “Don’t come over here,” she says, head lolling back.  She debates sitting on her hands.  She debates taking off her clothes.  It’s this terrible, pounding horniness.  This urge to just let Grant take her hard and rough against the floor.  This urge that’s growing and growing.

“I’m not going to,” Grant says.  “I can’t.”

She notices, for the first time, the heaviness in his voice.  “Oh.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Grant says.  She’s not sure how he can even make ideas.  Because all of hers are getting pressed under this growing, sex-craving fog.

“It’s fine,” Skye says.  She’s starting to regret her earlier declaration.  She’s starting to wish her legs worked.  Maybe if she just-

“Don’t get up,” Grant says.  Skye falls back onto her butt.  She hadn’t even registered the motion of movement, just the voice in her head saying _Grant Grant Grant Ward._

“Why not?” she asks.  “I’m so-”

“I know,” Grant says.  “I am, too.”

She groans.  She hasn’t managed to look at him yet. She worries it might ruin her.

With no small effort, she moves her head forward.  Droops her chin against her chest and catches Grant’s eye.

He’s still standing.  Leaning against the wall farthest from her.  He’s got a flush spreading up from his chest and he’s panting. He’s balled his hands into fists.  Pressed his knuckles to the wall.

It’s a rather tense picture of someone who’s got an erection straining against his jeans.

“Just come over here,” Skye says, tilting her head to her shoulder.  “We can get it out.”  She rolls those last words out like an invitation, finishing with the softest little smile.

God, she’s missed him.

And right now, she can remember what he’d tasted like.

He bites down on his lower lip and breaks eye contact.  “No,” he says.  “We can’t do that.”

“But you love me,” Skye says, which is something she’s been meaning to ask him about.  “And I want you.”

A bitter snicker.  “You don’t want me.”

“I do,” she says.  “C’mon, Grant.  Come here.”

“You’re high,” he says.  “We’re- We are high.”

“Please,” she says.  She’s so sweaty and sticky and God, couldn’t he just fix this? “I need your help.”

 

He freezes.  Just for a moment.  No heaving breaths.  No shaking.  He’s able to go completely still.

Skye’s got no idea how he manages that much self-control.  Even now.  She’d be all over him if her legs weren’t like, 90% mush right now.

“Take off your pants,” Grant says.

She breathes.  Fucking finally.  “Okay,” she says.  “Good.  I want you inside me so badly I could-”

“Not that,” Grant says.  He’s undoing the top button of his pants, which seems to contradict what he’s saying.  “We’re not going to have sex.”

“But,” Skye says.  She whines.  “But I want to.”

“We just need to get it out of our systems,” Grant says.  “Then we can leave, and never mention this to anyone.”

“I-” Skye says, like she’s going to protest.  But she can’t think, and now Grant’s reaching his hand into his boxer-briefs, and she’s going to die here.

He’s so fucking hot.

That’s not even the drugs talking.  Grant’s always been so handsome, even when his features are obscured by that constant, unending resentment.

Even then.  Because she knows how he looks without it.

“You want me to touch myself?” she asks.  Her hands are working without her.  Like they noticed his body was moving, and realized they should move, too.

“I want to get this out of me,” Grant says.  “I’m trying to help you.  Like you asked.”

She nods.  “Right,” she says.  And she still wants him on top of her.  In her space.  Where she can feel him and hear his heartbeat and count his eyelashes.

Last time she had, she’d lost count around 52.  But this time she could make it, while he dragged his lips across hers.  This time she’d count every eyelash, if he just gave her the chance.

The ground below her ass is fucking freezing, by the way.  It’s how she realizes that she’s followed Grant’s lead and slipped off her pants.

 

“Talk to me,” she says.  “If you won’t-” She slides her hand down her abdomen, into her underwear.  She gasps.  “Talk to me, please.”

 

“Okay,” Grant says.  She watches him stroke his hand under his underwear.  Lets out a small noise from the back of her throat.  Digs her finger against her clit.  “Okay, Skye.  What do you want me to say?”

“Mn,” she replies.  She can’t remember the last time she’s been this wet.  “Talk dirty.”

Finally, finally, she hears him moan.  It’s rough and caged and everything she’d hope it would be.  “I don’t think-”

“Stroke yourself for me, Grant,” Skye says.  It’s just like old times.  Just two nemeses, masturbating through the sex-fog.  Later, they’ll pretend this meant nothing.  Though right now, this feels like the whole world.

“God damn it,” Grant says, bracing his other hand against the wall.  “Don’t do that.”

“Then you talk,” Skye says.  “Just... tell me you want me.”

She can practically hear his teeth gnashing. “Of course I want you,” he says.  “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

She wants to close her eyes and ride out the sound of his voice.  But she feels like she shouldn’t.  Just an instinct.  The last one left that isn’t _fuck fuck fuck Grant fuck fuck._ “I think I do.”

“I want you so fucking much,” he says.  If his tone didn’t have that sex-fog sheen, it’d be something like angry.  Not angry.  Self-loathing.  “That’s why I can’t take you against the wall, Skye,” he says.  “No matter how much I feel like I should.”

He wants to fuck her he wants to-

She’s got two fingers inside herself.  “But you can,” she says.  “You can take me right now.”

“It’s not something to take,” he says.  “We’ll regret it, if we fuck.”

She spasms.  “Say fuck again.”

“What?” he says.

“Say it,” she says.  “Just say, ‘fuck.’”

He lets out a low whimper.

“See?” she says.  “Fuck.”

“God,” he groans, thrusting forward.  “Fucking shit. Fuck.  Fuck.  I hate this so fucking much.”

She could come right now, from that.  She wedges her hips upwards, drives her fingers deeper.  “But not me, right?” she says.

“Fuck,” Grant says again.

She forgets what she just asked him.  “God, Grant,” she says.  “I miss you so bad, I want you in me and I want to kiss you again and I fucking, I’m fucking-”

 

She falls apart. 

He doesn’t, not yet, and there’s something in her that wishes he would.

She wonders if it’s his self-control.  If the thing that kept them apart still is.  Even as she regains her senses, and he’s still lost in his.

“Grant,” she says, feeling sticky and dehydrated and so definitively un-sexy that it’s not even funny.  “It’s okay.”

He’s looking at her with hooded eyes.  Guilty, dark eyes.  “No,” he says.  “It isn’t.”

“I don’t,” she says, and she’s too drained for this, too stupid.  “I wouldn’t have regretted it.”

He closes his eyes and turns his head away.

“Grant,” Skye says.  “It’s hurting you.  Just let go.”

“Say my name again,” he says.  Not at her.  To the corner of the room.  “Please.”

“Grant,” she whispers.  “You helped me.”

He almost falls over when he comes.  He doesn’t, though.  He catches himself.  Always catching himself in front of her.

He doesn’t say a word.  She’s not sure if that does either of them any good.

She wouldn’t have regretted it.  It would have been her only excuse.

“Grant,” she says.

He doesn’t look at her.  All he says is: “Don’t.”


End file.
